Wild Texas Rose Page 4

  “I fought for a short time with Terry’s Rangers. When I was hurt, I would have died if I hadn’t been taken prisoner. A Yankee doctor fixed me up, sewing up holes so I wouldn’t bleed all over everything. When I got where I could walk, they gave me a choice. Stay in prison, or sign up for the frontier. I served the rest of the war out on the fort line. Out there it didn’t matter if you were Reb or Yank. You were fighting to keep settlers alive.”

  Stitch thought for a minute, then added with unexpected forthrightness, “I got a start on these scars from my father. He used to like to cut things when he was drunk. I was the oldest and the one he always came after.”

  “That’s unforgivable.” Anger caught in her throat as she forced the words out.

  “That’s what I told him when I killed him just after I turned nine.”

  “Self-defense,” Rose whispered simply.

  “I thought so too, even if he was snoring at the time.” Stitch took a breath as if knowing he’d have to finish his story before she’d stop asking questions. “My ma had a baby on the breast at the time and didn’t want to have to go to town and explain, so she just buried him. I don’t remember any of the neighbors even asking how he died. Don’t reckon they cared.”

  Rose fought down a gasp. She’d just hired a killer. A killer who’d defended himself at nine. She didn’t know whether to be worried or proud of him for being honest. “Do you know where the red-light district is?”

  He barked a laugh. “Everyone in Fort Worth knows that, miss.”

  She was glad he didn’t add something about such a place not being for the likes of her. With an overprotective father, three uncles—all bossy—and an older sister who thought she was a second mother, Rose did not need advice from strangers.

  “I wish to go to a dress shop on the north end near that district. I don’t have a street or number, but my uncle told me it was called Hallie’s Dresses and it faced the river.”

  The big man set the team in motion. “Only one street it could be, I’m thinking. This time of the morning the roads in that part of town will be empty so we should be able to move fast.”

  Rose gripped the side of the seat. Stitch was a good driver and he didn’t waste time. As the streets passed she had the feeling she was going down a well. Everything dulled and seemed covered in grime. Once, when Stitch stopped to drag a drunk out of the road, she tried to see anything bright, but the world seemed to be cloudy everywhere.

  Finally the bars and saloons faded and small houses, two and three stories high, crowded by the river. The buggy stopped at a door even before Rose noticed the small sign at the corner of the house. HALLIE’S PLACE. DRESS OR UNDRESS.

  “I don’t think this is a dress shop,” Stitch mumbled as he stepped down and lifted his hands to her.

  She let him swing her from the buggy as she asked, “But it has to be?”

  “No, miss, I think Hallie lets men dress her however they like . . . or undress her.” He looked away obviously embarrassed at having been so bold.

  “Really?”

  He didn’t face her. “There are probably stranger things going on down here, but I ain’t talking about them so don’t ask.”

  He’d just supplied her with the oddest thing she’d ever heard. “Will you stay close?”

  “I will.” He straightened as she pounded on the door.

  After several tries a chubby auburn-haired woman, maybe five or six years older than Rose, answered the door. She had sleepy eyes and very little clothes around her rather rounded body. Rose guessed the next customer must be one coming to dress her. When she saw Rose, she pulled a see-through robe around her and just stared as if it were far too early to be bothered.

  “Are you Hallie Smith?”

  The full-busted woman shrugged. “That’s a name I’ve used.”

  “Ranger Travis McMurray is my uncle and he told me if I needed help of a certain nature you might be able to do me a service. He said he hadn’t seen you in years, but he thought you owned a dress shop in Fort Worth.” Rose knew she was rambling, but Hallie Smith looked like she might slam the door at any moment.

  “That ranger saved my life once when I was more girl than woman. If you’re his kin, the least I can do is listen to what you want. Come on in.” When Rose passed, Hallie held the door. “This one with you?”

  “Yes.” Rose grinned. Stitch was taller than the door frame.

  Hallie looked him up and down boldly and he returned the favor. Each seemed shocked by the other.

  As they moved down the hallway to a tiny sitting room, Rose heard Hallie whisper to Stitch that she didn’t give samples and he answered that he wasn’t asking for any.

  Hallie offered her a seat and didn’t seem surprised when Stitch remained framed in the doorway. “Would you like some tea?” Hallie’s tone seemed rusty, as if she knew the proper words but hadn’t used them in a long time.

  “Thank you. That would be nice,” Rose answered. In truth, she needed a few minutes to wrap her mind around the idea that this dressmaker her uncle sent her to was something quite different from what she’d originally thought. He’d simply said, “If you need help with clothes or sewing, or even a good pickpocket, you might try Hallie Smith. When I knew her, she was a woman of many talents.” He couldn’t have known what she was doing, Rose felt sure of it.

  While Hallie was gone, Rose surveyed the room, deciding Stitch must be wrong about the woman. There was a sewing machine in the corner and stacks of material next to it on the floor. A huge button jar sat beside her chair, and a worn sewing kit rested on the table. Maybe the sign, DRESSED AND UNDRESSED, meant she made clothes for both day and nightwear.

  Glancing at Stitch, she noticed he was staring straight ahead as if afraid of what he might see if he let his gaze wander.

  Hallie returned with a tray. She’d slipped on a proper robe and combed back her wild hair. She totally ignored Stitch as she poured tea. When she passed Rose her cup, she began, “I was still in my teens when your uncle caught me picking pockets. Turns out I’d lifted money from the outlaw gang Travis McMurray had come to round up. They were considering cutting off one of my hands when he stopped them.”

  She took a sip of her tea and added, “I haven’t seen him for years, but I wrote him once telling him I had a dress shop in Fort Worth. Wanted him to know I was doing fine. Of late, I’ve found other work on the side.”

  Rose felt her cheeks warm. “Do you still pick pockets or, um, do anything else illegal?” It was a horrible thing to ask, but she had to know.

  “No. I pick pockets now and then just to entertain customers. I still do some sewing but not for ladies like you.” She seemed to be fighting to hold on to her pride. When she looked up, she met Rose’s gaze. “You got kind eyes like your uncle. He always looked at folks straight on. Treated me just like I was a lady the last time he arrested me.”

  Rose smiled at her as Hallie offered her a biscuit from a tin. “Thank you,” Rose said. “I’m here to offer you a job, but I have to know that we’ll have no trouble with the law.”

  Hallie set her cup down, suddenly very interested. “I’m not a prostitute. I have a small group of men who come here a few times a month just to watch me dress and undress. It’s easier than being a scrubwoman, and with a criminal record, I’ve not much chance at getting a job as a lady’s maid. In exchange for the viewing, they give me gifts and help me sometimes with the rent. They’re mostly gentlemen who only want to watch. If they did want more, they know to go down the street.”

  “I understand,” Rose lied. She had no idea why a man would pay money to watch someone take off their clothes, and from what she knew of wives, very few were willing to undress in front of their husbands. Maybe that was why they came to Hallie, to see how it worked. “I must ask that nothing said here goes beyond this room.”

  “I’m all for that, with the bargain including not saying anything about me to your uncle. I kind of like the idea of him thinking of me as just a dressmaker.”


  “Fair enough.” Rose liked this strange woman. “I’ll hire you to act as my lady’s maid while I’m in Fort Worth. I’m to be in a wedding in a week and will need to attend several events before the wedding itself.” She didn’t miss Hallie’s interest. “I’ve need of your pickpocketing skills in an investigation I’m doing. You’ll be paid double wages.”

  She had Hallie’s full attention so she continued, “I believe my friend, who is to marry in six days, is in some kind of trouble. As my maid you’ll be able to move unnoticed around the hotel. Whatever you palm, we’ll return quickly so you’ll be in little danger of being caught. If I find proof that her fiancé is not what he claims to be, I’ll do whatever is necessary to stop the wedding.”

  “Give me an hour and I’ll be ready.” Hallie obviously wasn’t a woman who dallied on discussions.

  “But we haven’t settled on a price?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ll be fair. I can’t imagine a McMurray being otherwise. I’ve got a dress that will work perfect. I’ve only put it on and taken it off a few times, so it’s almost new. I’ll play the part of your maid better than a real one ever could.”

  Rose thought of asking why she’d jumped so quickly into something that might prove dangerous but then saw it in Hallie’s eyes. Rose had just offered her the first ray of sunshine in her colorless life.

  Standing, Rose thanked her for the tea and promised to send Stitch back in an hour.

  Hallie surveyed the huge doorstop blocking her parlor door. “You sure I’ll be safe with him?”

  He raised his head. “I was wondering the same thing about you, ma’am.”

  Hallie laughed, but Rose just watched Stitch. Something in the way he stood told her that, though Hallie might have been teasing, he wasn’t.

  Rose returned to the hotel to find a note Tori had slid under her door saying she knew Rose needed to rest after the train ride and she would see her tomorrow if time allowed. Rose didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved.

  Chapter 5

  Second Avenue

  Abe Henderson folded the colorful Indian blankets along the north wall for the fourth time since he opened the mercantile that morning. School would be starting back soon; the holidays would be officially over and his place could get back to normal.

  Lightning flashed across his front windows. Every mother in town had been shopping today despite the weather and every kid had tracked mud across his floor. They’d bothered, fingered, and messed up all areas.

  As he worked, he thought of the crazy advice that Killian’s ghost brother had given him. Maybe he should make a New Year’s resolution to just grab the first available single girl and kiss her. At least he’d have something to remember about this year besides just its passing.

  “One more hour.” He nodded toward Henry at the counter. His one employee was already antsy wanting to get home to his ever-growing family. “If this rain keeps up, we might think about closing early. No one would come in anyway.”

  “I don’t mind staying and helping you clean up,” Henry offered.

  Abe shook his head. He’d be up till midnight getting the place back in order, but unlike Henry, he had nowhere to go. A bowl of soup and three-day-old bread was all that waited for him upstairs. And the nightmares, he added to himself.

  He’d been seventeen when a Yankee bullet exploded into his leg a dozen years ago. If his mother hadn’t gotten to him in time, he would have died in the hell they’d called a hospital prison. She’d argued with half the Union army officers that her dying son needed to go home. Abe wasn’t sure if they gave in because he looked so bad or they couldn’t stand against one southern widow about to lose her only child, but she brought him home more dead than alive. Then, more on a mission than out of love, he thought, she nursed him back as she ran the store all by herself.

  He’d recovered, a skeleton of the boy who’d left to fight a war he thought would bring him glory. The town claimed he was a hero, but Abe Henderson felt more like a coward. He seldom left his family store since his return. Here, behind the stacks and counters, he could pretend he was whole. Here he could move so that the limp wasn’t so noticeable. Here he could pretend he was normal.

  His mother had lost her husband the same year he’d been wounded, and he’d wondered a thousand times whether she would have come after him if she could have found anyone else to help out in the store. Love wasn’t a word he’d ever heard her use.

  Abe sometimes reminded himself he was barely out of his twenties, but inside he felt old. Too old for dances or courting or even church suppers. He’d never attended a party or even walked down the street to a saloon for a drink. This was his prison. The store was his world.

  He’d done well, enlarging his store in both directions when other businesses closed, but he’d only increased the prison. He planned to use the abandoned bakery next door, his newest acquisition, to enlarge his hardware space. He’d keep the door between his place and the new space so men could go in and look at tools while the women shopped. The men could smoke, maybe even pass around a bottle on cold days. It made sense that if both the man and wife came in, the shopping would increase.

  So far the plan was only in his head, but once winter settled into spring there would be enough men looking for work that he could enlarge quickly.

  “Here come the Donnely dozen,” Henry announced as a batch of children hit the door. “The old man probably made them work all day in the rain before letting them come do their shopping.”

  Mrs. Donnely, as wide as the door, wiggled her way in. “Mr. Henderson!” she yelled. “Every other kid needs new shoes, and the boys get two pair of trousers, one new shirt, and three pairs of socks. The girls have their lists. I didn’t have time to shop for Christmas this year so I gave them all promises.” She pointed at one boy a few inches taller than her but still short of being a man. “Only my oldest needs a new coat. Any one will do as long as it’s warm. I know it’s a lot to buy, but I won’t have folks thinking the Donnelys don’t have enough to outfit them all. What we can’t find in an hour, we’ll do without until we slaughter another hog.”

  Abe almost swore as the arguments started. Old man Donnely, who obviously stayed home, thought shoes should last two years and there were always younger kids to pass them down to. The offspring might not argue with their father, but they thought nothing of yelling at their siblings.

  Mrs. Donnely sat down on the stool by the boxes of shoes, slapping away children who were not eligible for a new pair. “All you get black lace-ups except for my Carol Ann. She’s thirteen and almost marrying age so she can pick out a girl’s shoe.”

  Three girls giggled behind him and Abe looked at them trying to figure out which was the oldest. None showed any sign of developing into “marrying age.”

  “You interested?” Mrs. Donnely smiled an almost toothless grin.

  “No,” Abe answered. “I don’t plan to ever marry.”

  Momma Donnely looked disappointed as Abe tried to help a few of her brood while others pulled pairs off the shelf and began trying on whatever they could reach.

  He heard Henry threaten a few by the counter. The youngest girl, about three or four, Abe guessed, was sitting among the bolts of material. Her crying blended in with the chaos, and he didn’t miss the fact that every few minutes she blew her nose on the end of one of the bolts of material. He planned to roll off a half yard and send it home with Mrs. Donnely.

  Forty-five minutes later the place was a total mess, the counter was head high with the Donnelys’ annual clothing purchase and Abe was seriously considering drinking the vanilla even if it was only twelve percent alcohol.

  The front door chimed. Let it be Marshal Courtright coming to arrest all the candy thieves, Abe thought. He should have weighed the lot when they came in and again as they left. He had no doubt at least five pounds of chocolate had been consumed.

  No sheriff, though. The one person he prayed wouldn’t come in until the mail run tomorrow morni
ng stood just inside the door looking as if she’d just stepped into an ant bed.

  “Evening, Miss Norman.” One of the Donnely boys pulled off his hat and stepped out of the schoolteacher’s way.

  Abe watched as she moved in her proper little march toward him. He noticed the noise in the place dropped. Wild children paused in mid-rampage. For them, this one lady had more power over their world than anyone alive.

  She smiled at each but didn’t say a word until she stood a foot in front of him.

  “Have the last of my supplies arrived, Mr. Henderson?” If she weren’t a woman, he swore she’d be a general. She seemed to be willing her things to appear by the commanding tone of her voice.

  In the eight years he’d known the schoolmarm, she’d never been anything but formal, even cold, to him. Never a hair out of place or a smudge on her clothes. Pretty washed down to plain, he’d always thought. Hair too tightly knotted. Not a touch of makeup. Clothes in only browns and dull blues. Women respected her and men never gave her a second look, except him maybe, when he thought she wouldn’t notice.

  Only today, for some insane reason, Abe found himself mesmerized by her mouth. The woman frightened him almost speechless, but he liked the way her mouth moved, when she wasn’t pressing her lips together in impatience.

  “Well, Mr. Henderson?”

  “No,” he managed.

  She pointed a finger at the storage room behind his long counter. “I saw a wagonload of boxes being delivered earlier.”

  He forced himself to think, but exhaustion weighed against him. “I haven’t had time to check the shipment, but I’m sure your things are not among the boxes.” Staples came by train and were delivered by one of the men who worked at the depot. Her supplies were ordered by mail.

  She looked disappointed and he saw a hint of doubt in her eyes. The proper Miss Norman didn’t believe him. In some ways, he knew all about her, from what she ate to the tiny bottle of perfume she bought herself for Christmas each year, yet she didn’t even know him well enough to believe him.